


tithe

by SecretReyloTrash (BadOldWest)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Blow Jobs, Breeding Kink, Cum Play, Cunnilingus, Demi god kylo ren, F/M, Fae-Adjacent, Filth From Sentence One Not Even Kidding, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Huntress Rey, Impregnation Kink, Jannah Owns My Ass, Kylo Ren The Fuckboi God, Marathon Sex, Midsummer Night’s Dream Inspired, Misunderstanding, Mortal/God, Offering Your Firstborn—RIGHT NOW Trope, Okay It Got Pine-y and Romantic Without My Permission, Power Dynamics, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Smut, Virgin Rey, excessive cum, pure filth, sex bargain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:34:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25918906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadOldWest/pseuds/SecretReyloTrash
Summary: Huntress Rey foolishly wandered into the mysterious demigod Kylo Ren’s forest. In order to return home; she must give him her firstborn child.So far it’s been a lot of work.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 47
Kudos: 909





	tithe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vuas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vuas/gifts).



Her thighs tremble and twitch with every step; tightening even more as she feels a nearly molten slide down her skin. 

An errant stripe of cum threads from the nape of her neck to her cheek. She’d wipe it away, but she had no other hands than the ones that were just as coated. 

There’s no large surface of her body that is safe. On this particularly shameful walk, she is covered in ribbons of his seed that remain, laced tight around her body, which is sore from head to toe. 

It’s not the only part of him that will remain: _he_ will linger in other ways for quite a while longer then it will take for all this to be bathed off when she reaches the temple.

_But he let her go, didn’t he?_

She slows to a stop and slides her hands protectively over her belly. She crossed the boundary back into the Goddess’s part of the forest a few paces behind her. 

She left. As promised.

Under her hands, her stomach as flat and tight as ever. But it twitches against her touch, all overexerted muscle, and she can still feel how she was tensing up for him what feels like just moments ago. 

Back when he rested his lips against her shoulder and told her they were finished. Truly done. As only a God would know.

She should feel relief in that. 

Did she really stumble away without washing? In a dirty chiton that only absorbed the mess he had made of her, only clinging to her skin to emphasize the extent of it. 

Without a _goodbye?_

The walk through the forest is as if time had stopped. She doesn’t see any creatures roaming underfoot, not even the stag she had entered this wood to hunt. It’s just her. 

Her and whatever Kylo Ren left inside her.

* * *

Rey does not strike a stag with her bow. 

Rey strikes a stag herself, the arrow just as much a part of her as her hand, her weapon as much her life as her heart. 

The air sings with sparks when her arrow flies. 

She never wants to kill, she wants to _hunt,_ so her bow goes neatly back over her shoulder as she approaches the wounded creature. 

There’s still a charge in the air from how she stills the world when she aims, and how it all moves faster when she releases an arrow. And then stops still again when that arrow makes something alive become dead.

At least this one will last as food for a few days. It’s worth the satisfaction to have a hungry belly then when it’s caught. She’s been out longer than she meant to: gratified to yield something so substantial as a stag for the other priestesses.

Rey takes out her knife from her belt and jogs over to the fallen creature to finish things as respectfully as she can. 

_“And who said you could do that?”_

Rey glances over her shoulder with a fierce look. The voice should have come from nowhere: she would have heard someone approach.

Her short, wild hair whips at her cheeks, her head jerks so quickly. From how close he is, she should have heard him approach before now, from much further away. 

“I don’t need permission to hunt in these woods.”

Dark eyes blink languidly at her. The figure that stands before her is all pale skin and shadows, except for the light that casts back from his amber irises in the sunset. 

“These woods require a sacrifice in order to take one of its creatures,” this man tells her mournfully. 

_Not a man,_ she realizes with horror, having wandered deeper into the forest than she expected. She speaks too boldly. She is not protected here. 

This is not a small mistake in terms of the Gods.

“Then it is not permission I ask for, but mercy,” she bows her head quickly, hands clasped at her chest. 

Her hair falls over her face intentionally, like she can’t face him as she dies. 

She killed a God’s stag.

What’s a girl, to him, compared to a creature of his woods?

The hand that should strike her down never comes. Just a moment of silence and cicadas. 

Sunlight. A warm breeze. She waits so long for him to kill her she almost becomes aware of the beauty of this evening as a last moment.

Instead, he speaks:

“I can offer my forgiveness. But all things come at a price. You’ll stay.”

Every fiber of her being rebels from this offer: even if it means life. She can’t help it. If she were free of her oaths to the Goddess, this might come as a relief. But she’s not.

Rey clenches her fists and shakes her head. 

His displeasure is not audible but it is deeply heard.

She dares a glance up at him after a moment of terse silence in response to her refusal: clad in black and ageless and oddly confused by her. 

He just looks.

Rey wets her lips and speaks again:

“I cannot.”

He brow furrows slowly, like a branch of a tree drooping under the weight of snowfall.

“I’ve just offered you a fate other than death.”

She glances up at him. 

“My life isn’t mine. It is sworn to the Goddess of lands south to your forest. I have wandered out of her care, but my oath stands. As her servant I am not a being to be forgiven.”

His hand sifts gently into her shorn hair, a ritual of the temple, perhaps recognizing the Goddess she served in that moment with his touch.

“Then what mercy can be offered to you, since you ask for it, little one?”

“To let me return,” she swallows, knowing she will not be given a choice, but knowing her service requires it. Loyalty. Until the end.

The God blinks at her. 

Rey keeps her eyes on him. She’s sure the tasks will lead to her death, but it’s life that she’s chosen. She has to return home for the Goddess or die trying.

He places his hand along her throat, tilting her eyes to meet his as he’s grown even closer, higher above her.

“For you to be able to leave: I shall require a tithe.”

* * *

Rey agrees hastily. She doesn’t have to slay a monster or travel to a forgotten isle or even sort a mountain of flax seeds from grain. 

She just has to take her clothes off. 

The God blinks at her when she drops the shoulder of her short chiton down one arm, then the other, baring her tanned chest to him. She only has the wiry body of a hunter: but it will have to suffice for this deed to be done.

“Little huntress…” he purses his full mouth at her and watches as the garment falls past her hips to her feet in a timid flutter. He hasn’t lifted his hand from her neck. The fingers creep to encompass more of it, encroaching on her pulsing throat.

She stands in only her sandals with her brow furrowed in confusion. It had not spurred him on. Was this not what he meant? 

He clears his throat and steps closer. 

“Well. Lie back.”

She’s tipping off her feet onto her back at his command, falling without weight and cushioned by sunny moss when she lands. He doesn’t so much as move before he’s hovering above her, like he reappeared from nothing in the air above her naked body. 

He’s similarly undressed from his dark robe when he appears.

“My firstborn,” she nods up at him, wiggling to try and push her open legs into him to start the proceedings. Her posture is more official, he lounges above her, their bodies crushing together so she can feel his weight. He’s massive, something that should scare a maiden, but it’s a little thrilling. Lying prone above her, his throat exposed, he might be a God but she almost looks like something fearsome she’s slain with her bow.

With her body. 

He clucks his tongue at her and stills her movements. Again, bringing her along his body as if this is recreational. 

“We cannot start yet, little one,” he informs her, mournfully amused, taking her hand in his. Her palm feels sweaty as it is unfurled and pressed against his length, wrapped and sealed with his grasp firm over her fingers. 

He shows her. He isn’t quite hard. 

Rey breathes up at him, her lips parted, confusion wrinkling her brow. 

_Is there something wrong?_

“We’re not ready yet,” he tuts, and then bows and brings his lips to her naked breast, “oh, but _look—”_

He blows a cold breath on her wetted nipple and her whole body trembles like a shaken string of little bells. Her full hand feels his skin tighten against it and twitch. 

_Harder._

“Almost,” he soothes. His lips press intimately under her ear, causing her to shudder against the length of his body, “You have me so close.”

He says it like something is missing: like something still needs to be done. Rey blinks up at him because she’s ready to do whatever it is. She’s eager for all to be in order to _start._

“What do I do to help?”

Then she can go home.

“A huntress knows little of men,” He scoots back onto his heels and lifts up her knees to crouch between, “you do nothing but feel your pleasure, little one.”

And then his tongue graces her wet folds. 

“T-this isn’t necessary to reproduction,” she raises her splayed legs to her chest in a poor attempt to wriggle her hips away. “I do not need to know much about men to know that.”

A warm chuckle is her only answer for a few moments, firm swipes being taken with a flat tongue from her sex like a stag drinking from a stream. She is hot against his mouth, burning, in a way she’s never been aware of before. Her body tightens up for him, as he did under her hand when he played with her breast. 

The God rests back on his heels and lets a thick string of spittle draw from her cunt to his lips as he pulls away. There’s something about the carelessness of letting it connect them that makes it seem deliberate. Dirty. Wet, all of it, his mouth and her sex all wet. 

The strand is shining in the last light of the evening before it breaks and goes slack, flattening to his chin. Daylight is fading.

She wonders how much time will be needed for this Rite. This bargain. 

In exchange for her freedom.

Her abandoned slit is still exposed to the air and his eyes. He does not spare her the exposure from either element he can control. 

He lifts his head after a moment of intense examination to look up at her with a sardonic smile. 

“May I enjoy myself?”

She wants to grab for her chiton and leave. But there is no way to escape but to take him as her path. She clutches for the fabric somewhere beside her in the grass, more confused than ever. Her thighs try to close as his head bows near to her cunt again. 

“How are you enjoying yourself _this_ way?”

He answers by lapping at her quickly, a hot lash of his tongue slithering between her lips. She shrieks and arches up off the moss to meet his perfect mouth. He pulls her back: she strikes forward like the reverb of her bow. She is a string that he snaps with his plucking fingers. 

This God pulls her legs open and gently presses her foot into his lap.

 _“This_ amuses me,” from where they rest on the earth, her hands cannot reach his cock, but he nudges it against the sensitive arch of her foot to indicate that he is closer, so hard, and that her body’s reactions have encouraged this. 

She swallows and looks away as he lowers his head to her sex. 

“We should focus on the _b-baby,”_ she grits her teeth and shudders when he parts her lips to kiss a curious weak spot he’s found. She never liked the tickle that came across her body when she’d scrubbed a rag over this part of herself while bathing, but now, it’s a divine feeling that has her rolling around on the forest floor like a wild nymph. 

It’s too much and there’s been nothing even gone into making the child yet.

“I will focus on the mother,” he insists with a dark glare, eyes gone black and piercing, hovered threateningly over her pelvis like the prongs of a trident. 

Then he kisses the inside of her thigh sulkily. Until she relaxes back and lets her thighs fall open for him to drink from.

Rey swallows and clutches his hair and whimpers when he sucks at that sweet place again. She can only lay back and hold him in the final washes of evening light.

The sun is gone before he stops. 

* * *

“I am ready.”

She blinks up at the Demigod standing naked in front of her. He has to be a Demigod, with all the bargaining. Real Gods can do as they pleased. 

He was taking her baby, of course, so he could do enough as he pleased to do her harm.

“What’s your name?”

She sits up in her little bed of moss, which is now tossing with disturbed fireflies that blink on and off as they float away from her naked body. When did she fall asleep? 

He blinks at her for a moment. 

“Kylo Ren,” he says after a long pause. 

He doesn’t ask for hers.

Her eyes fall on his cock, which is much more alert than when she first attempted to take it. 

“When was _this_ achieved?”

He crouches before her, smoothing some sweaty hair away from her cheek. 

“In the midst of your pleasure; but you blacked out when it became overwhelming. I forgot that mortals cannot stand as much as we Gods do. I stayed ready for you throughout,” he brings her hand to his cock again as if evidencing this, “for whenever _you_ were ready for me.”

He’d just observed her sleeping, hard as stone, for however long she was out. Luckily time passed quicker for him. It may have felt like an instant. But from her grasp of time, the image is not of the honorable patience he must picture.

“That sounds like we’ve wasted a lot of time, then,” she responds mournfully. 

Rey closes her eyes and lays back on the moss. Her cropped hair falls away from her flushed skin, which helps with the heat of the summer night. There’s an instinct to bring him closer now that she’s bowed away. She wants to mock him for his casual, bragging tone. He sounds much too proud of himself, like he was not merely a silly man with an erection and no one to take care of it for him. 

Rey rolls onto her hands and knees and presents herself to him. Now that he’s finally ready. 

“Then I should not make you wait any longer. How would you— _unhh—”_

Her teeth set into her lip viciously, the only thing to grasp as tightly as she needed to. He nudges her open with his blunt head and slides gently, not all at once, but she is so yielding after his work of her body that she can’t blame his enthusiasm for any of it. 

Her hands clutch the moss and her shoulders give a tremble in the dark. 

It isn’t true darkness, at least not in the clearing. When she opens her eyes she sees that the stag is gone. Perhaps healed by its God while its hunter slept. In its place was a stone dais as if they occupied a palace without a roof or walls. A throne. 

This is his court. 

There is a glow on every object, every blade of grass, their hair and skin: it is night but all is visible. Perhaps another one of his enchantments, for there is no moon to help her see. 

She glances back over her shoulder at him, feeling full but steady, moored by the weight of him inside her, and is treated to an eyeful of his broad chest.

“Are we almost done?”

He chuckles and tilts his hips to seat deeper. The slide stokes something. Subtle, but clear. Her arms shake, realizing this is not as simple as she had envisioned. She shakes further when he bows over her to whisper:

“Finish what you started, huntress.”

Rey bites her lip and impales herself back onto him. He’s much gentler than she is about this. If he wants to make her work, so be it. She’ll be home sooner. Safe in bed, and once the child came and went, it would like this never happened. 

A dream. 

A _soothing_ nightmare, a sickly sweet one, as his hand moves in circles across her belly when they are locked together tightly. Just enough to get the heart racing. To awaken her. 

He grasps her hips and pulls her off of him, yanking her back in a fluid motion. Repeating her actions, but with more practice and skill. 

A cry leaves her lips. 

Oh. _Oh._

He is fucking her. It makes sense in feeling; if she is confused by his actions. He then holds her steady and moves himself, swaying his hips, causing her to fall forward with a shocked little cry. 

“It’s not bad work, is it?”

She nods with her brow pressed into the moss. His cock moving in and out of her tight cunt has her brain unable to command her limbs. They just tense up as tightly as they can as they turn their command over to him. 

“You liked it earlier, cumming for me?”

Rey nods again her mouth falling open as his length rubs a sensitive spot in her stuffed cunt. He slows in focus and then returns to it, rubbing against it purposefully, until she twitches and gives in.

“Yes! _I liked it.”_

He grunts his satisfaction at the answer. 

“I liked it too. Let me give you a _little—”_

Rey shrieks into the dark forest, his forest, as his seed floods into her body. Her cunt pulses around the steady invasion. It’s like stepping into a warm bath. She was not ready for it to feel so nice. 

_This_ is what she promised, and she thought it would part her from him the fastest, but she just feels consumed now. 

Rey attempts to catch her breath at how hot and full it all is, like a sprint through the wild that only ended when she couldn’t _breathe_ anymore. 

But he is tense in his strange silence like this is not yet over. She glances up at him. Obviously there would be details to sort out now that they had coupled.

“I’ll...bring the child to you?”

She offers it with weak hope. 

Kylo’s hand slides down between her legs and rubs that spot he’s so fond of, the ticklish one, and her limbs can barely hold her up. 

Suddenly, she’s firmly pressed onto her belly on the ground. He resumes his mount as she writhes underneath him. Welcoming the pleasure. Struggling with what it might make her surrender.

The God clucks his tongue at her again.

“Oh no, not yet. To seal this bargain we must be thorough...”

* * *

They stop after a few hours so she can rest and eat. 

She wonders how he knows to do this, as he’s the one who’s off her and wandering to the stone dais, where food rests on golden platters. His estimation is off, perhaps because he didn’t know how hungry she was when she wandered into his forest, though she’d been distracted from the hunger enough by his touch. 

When his hands leave her to beckon her to the meal, the ache rattles in her muscular stomach. 

Rey pads over across the forest floor to dig in. She traces her fingers in the grease pooling in the plate of roasted meat. 

“Is this the same…?”

“Yes,” he pulls a leg free from the roasted stag and holds it out to her, “you killed it.”

Rey takes it from him and marvels, forgetting what food was supposed to taste like for a moment, before sinking her teeth into the cooked flesh. 

“Since you bested one of my own creatures, so it’s only fitting you consume it.”

She raises her eyebrows at him as her teeth saw into the meat. 

“I killed it to eat it.”

He looks befuddled, taking a seat on the stone alongside the feast. Each dish is as pretty as the last, she wants a bite of them all, but she can’t let go of the bone in her hand from her first bite until it’s picked completely clean. 

His eyes examine her enthusiasm incredulously. 

“What were you trying to prove to me, that you can just devour anything that is mine?”

Rey wipes the greasy fat from her chin with the back of her hand, talking with her mouth open: “I was hungry.”

He blinks at her. Her stomach is already full, and it’s uncomfortable to stand and eat _and_ be watched by him so intensely all at once. She sits down beside him with a groan, which may be disrespectful, but they’d just spent an entire evening fucking.

His arm lifts as if to drape itself over her thin shoulders. 

He gestures to the spread of food he left out for her instead, seemingly lost for words. 

“Then eat,” he pauses, giving her a quick look over like he realized he didn’t know the word for her, “what’s your name?”

She gives a surprised laugh.

“Rey.”

He nods gravely, his hands in his lap. Sitting there, beside her, almost human. 

“Eat, Rey.”

* * *

  
  


When they start up again, she accidentally makes a game for him. 

He’s a God, so his hardness is difficult to soften. Or at least _slow_ to soften, near-everlasting compared to a mortal. She’s allowed breaks for fitful sleep and food or to rest her body, but the rest of the time is just pure exertion. Consumption. And he’s ready for her, having waited patiently while she slept, like he was the first time she woke up. He can cum again and again and never flag. She keeps taking him and hopes that _this time_ will finally get her pregnant.

_Surely she has to be by now?_

It’s more than her mortal body can bear, but it does eventually happen that he needs to recover and she must arouse him again. 

Rey is not creative about it. She asks what he wants her to do and he pants at her a moment, looking lost for words.

“Suck it,” he is seated beside her, looking wounded, “in your mouth.”

Rey crawls to him and drops her mouth over his lap. Her body is trapped in the length of his legs. Lying alongside him like this is odder than any pose he’d arranged them into before. She isn’t practiced in this skill but her lips nudging his length and then wrapping warmly around it have him at least interested in her attention. 

She suckles his top hotly and intensely, as if to rush this act as much as possible. He’s had his mouth on her, soothing her and making it feel better after all the use, too many times to count now. Her enthusiasm pales in comparison to his. Some maidens became a huntress just to never have to worry about this, but if it would arouse him again, she’d try it.

So it’s a surprise when he is hard so quickly, and then as if in seconds, his seed tosses across her face and hair in a hot splash that has her rear back in shock. 

It happens so quickly it startles them both.

She leans back on her knees, hands on his thighs, pinning him with a glare. A messy glare, as spend drips from her brow.

_“Don’t waste it!”_

It’s not _too_ horrible that it is. Practically speaking: waste is not as much of an issue. This is no mortal man. He’s still hard, and likely will be for a long time. She should be more fearful of that than the fact that his seed was spilled. 

It’s hot on her skin, painting her…

And his eyes trace the mess longingly, riveted, depraved.

He swipes his fingers through a trace of it on her chin. She knows little of men or reproduction, but she knows for a child to be born that’s supposed go _inside—_

He slides his wet fingers into her mouth swiftly. 

Rey hiccups on the intrusion, looking up at him with an unsure expression. His fingers are so large. Two on her tongue feel threatening. The taste of him splashes across her senses. The digits settle there until she groans and adjusts them with a suck. 

“My mistake.”

But he smiles like there is no mistake in sight. 

She narrows her eyes as she cleans his fingers with her mouth. He doesn’t remove them until every trace of cum is gone. She feels what’s left drip down her ear onto her cheek.

From then on she is in a constant battle with his desire to miss their intended target.

* * *

She has to get precious about _where_ he cums. Begging for it inside her cunt: such a good place for it, when she needs it, the only thing she wants. She’ll climb on top of him and rock, constantly telling him how good it is for her when it’s all inside her where it belongs. 

Otherwise, if she gets distracted, he’ll spend on her ass or her tits or her face. He loves it, hoards over her body like something precious when she wears his cum. His delight builds some of hers in the moments following. The way he looks at her when he covers her in it and how it warms her skin. 

But she mourns all the seed that should be resting inside her.

He appreciates her greediness, and always cums inside her if she begs. As much as it feels she has to train him to finish inside, as their bargain states, she feels trained to want to feel it. Not just to know this was being done correctly. 

But to hold it, hot and slick, in her cunt and breathe for a moment and feel like she’s taken him as fully as she can. There’s a glow of accomplishment as he praises her and rubs her belly and idly, almost accidentally, tells her their baby will be beautiful. 

_Black hair and golden freckles._

She knows he’s just saying it to make this more bearable: but he doesn’t have to say anything, so it feels oddly kind.

Sometimes he holds her legs up in the air after he finishes inside so it can settle deep into her womb. She squeaks when he folds her like that, ankles by her ears, his face hovering so close to hers. Then his warmth permeates. She can almost feel it climb deeper inside her, filling her, it’s terrifying and wonderful. She’s competitive. She wants this to be successful. 

Almost as much as she wants to go home.

Sometimes he does that thing, _enjoying himself,_ when she’s bent in half with his cum trapped inside her, with his tongue tracing that bead of her flesh and nerves with her too trapped to move. She can really feel all the seed she has taken, and how it squeezes out as her walls bear down on nothing from the tremors his mouth creates. It makes her fidget, anxious to lose it, and plead with him to not let her drop any of his cum, not even on her thighs, certainly not to the ground. He’ll benevolently nudge it back inside with his fingers with a soft laugh and then press it as far back as it’ll go in her cunt, _deep_ until she arches her spine for him _._

She’s being trained, by his games, to prevent all the ways it can be wasted. 

* * *

She wakes up in her bed. 

Everything is as strange and wonderful and dream-like as the past few days have been: and then when she opens her eyes it’s familiar again. For a moment it does appear that this was all a dream. Except for the full belly. Or maybe she _is_ pregnant, and he sent her here the instant he knew now that the contract was sealed, and would come for her again when the baby was born. 

But as she stirs in her bed, she feels hands skate up and down her legs, and hears a purring in the distance. If she twists her neck the right way, she can smell earth and moss, feel dew pricking her naked legs.

It’s merely an enchantment.

But she’s back in the soft bed when he folds his body over hers. 

“Is this more comfortable for you?” 

She nods, blinking up at him as he crawls the length of her body, exploring with roaming lips. Unusual places. The pulsing muscle on her upper arm, beside her breast, but ignoring where she was soft in order to kiss where she was hard.

He’s more like a lover this way. This feels less like the frantic fucking, breeding, in the clearing of his forest.

“You put me in my bed.”

He lifts his eyes from her skin and blinks at her like he’s caught, but only because he hadn’t expected her to catch on. 

“Does it help, for your productivity? I thought you might be more comfortable. That it would—help.”

There’s care in that answer she just cannot hear. Her flesh is too armored with muscle and scars to allow that to slip through.

Rey sighs and pulls him closer with her strong, tanned, leonine thighs.

“You said I wouldn’t return home until it was done.”

He cracks a slow grin and slides his cock inside her. Her chest arches up in pleasured surprise. He has noted that this is remarkably _not finished yet._

“You’re not home. You’re here with me.”

She blinks up at him with sleepy suspicion. This is an awful amount of work. Could she not keep her promise _after_ returning to the realm of her Goddess?

Her own hastiness slaps her across the face. 

“Would you have taken the first child I’d birthed from _any_ man?”

He glances down at her, blinking forgetfully, and a dissatisfied look crosses his face. 

Would that be better? Could she have avoided this by returning and never stepping foot enar a man again? Would he always haunt her until she did, or send men to deceive her for the child? That felt more like trickery than the days she had been kept in this forest. In stories like this, she’d end up a queen and a God would enter her court to collect an heir. 

Rey cannot say if things were better this way: just that happening as they are now is the way she can manage. 

“We’ve come so far now,” he thrusts his cock roughly into her again, so deep she cries out, “shouldn’t we see this through to the end?”

That’s the catch. Pleasure. It’s not supposed to be a part of this, or coming to like this strange God, but it is. It’s like trying to remove oil from her skin with her bare hands. It just clings and coats wherever it touches and becomes inseparable from her own body. 

Rey is forgetting what her body was even _for_ before this, so she doesn’t argue.

* * *

“Will you take it down your throat?”

Rey barely blinks an eye open. Her cunt is throbbing. Occasionally after interludes he cups her groin with his hand and some odd feeling sparks, soothing, and she feels revived. Then she will clamber on top of him and ride: her abdomen chording with muscle as her hips dance for him. 

But now it’s not her sex that aches. It is her muscles. Her limbs. It took some time for him to exhaust her strengths built on hunting. But she is tired now. Too tired for their bargain, anyway.

She slits an eye open and sees that, despite the seed leaking from her loose thighs, he’s still painfully hard. He’s been so good whenever she’s resting. Waiting until she was ready again. Conscious of her mortality, almost shy of it, or frightened of it. 

Like she was fragile. Not like it was her failing. But like he was too brutal to be allowed near her. 

She stretches a moment. She doesn’t want to waste a chance at conception of his tithe. But, as she watches him shift beside her on his knees with a hint of discomfort, that cock so swollen and red—

Rey rises to her knees and crawls to him. Her mouth falls open sloppily and he slides himself almost tentatively past her lips. 

His hands fall on her shoulders. Bobbing her forward. Guiding gently, a slow press, in a way that lets her free enough to twist away from him if she chooses. 

Again, this doesn’t take long, nor does he soften in her mouth when she feels him pulse and flood against her lips. He’s still hard when she tastes him. 

An hour ago she’d be cursing him, a God, for a foolish waste.

He gasps and guides his hands up and down her throat. Stroking her hair. Thanking her.

It startles her how fast she’s fallen.

 _This_ is pleasure. Nothing more. She cannot pretend it is anything but at this point. She has wandered out of the safe territory of this bargain and into a forest forbidden to her. Where she will suck her lover, this man, this God, into her mouth and it is not to pretend it is merely because she made him a promise he could keep the child she bears him.

She closes her eyes and swallows.

* * *

The waste begins then. Rey has heard of bacchanalia in forests like this. Gods like this.

But this feels lees like revelry at first. In fact it starts with pity.

He’s been as chaste as possible with his own needs: but he can’t keep waiting for her to recover and she can’t be stubborn that he only cum inside her body. 

Thus begins the baptism. 

He doesn’t touch her, not until she starts asking him for it. First it is an accident. She sleepily permits him to touch himself as she napped. The cradle of her hips was bathed in his cum and she woke to it still warm on her skin. She urged him to do it again so she could feel it on her tits. He wanted to see it on her ass. 

Then the wildness sets in. The way he rolls her over. The way she presses herself up. It's not a game to defeat the other as it was before. Tricks and bargains. They play this together.

It creates a natural interlude that balances their capabilities: her as mortal, him as a God. She can rest and he can keep going. Cumming on her back, her throat, her legs. Everywhere. She likes the feeling so much that usually, waking and arching into the warmth of his cum all over her, she reaches for him. 

Tells him where to put it properly. 

* * *

She wakes again in her own bed again. But Rey knows better this time. She doesn’t even stir. It’s not real yet. When she blinks quickly enough she can see the fireflies and glowing flowers in the corners of the image. The flaws in the illusion.

It’s still nice to have him cuddled up behind her. 

A large hand spans protectively over her belly. 

This is almost...simply perfect. To feel held and guarded and precious. Her God in her bed, snuggling her, his fierceness apparent even in sleep—

He softly kisses her shoulder.

“It’s done.”

He sounds sweet, and proud. She should feel victorious. They’ve finished. 

Her eyes widen as the room fades away and they are together on the grass. She’s not nearly as cozy with dew and his seed coating every inch of her skin.

“I can...go home?” she asks hopefully.

A moody silence answers her.

And when his warmth leaves, it’s time to really shiver.

She slams her eyes shut when her chiton drifts in front of her.

_It’s done._

* * *

Rey rests herself a stone column older than anyone she’s ever met and looks out at the forest. 

Maybe that isn’t true. The stone probably isn’t older than him. She’d have to ask when he came for the baby.

At the very edge of her vision, she thinks she sees where the shadow of night has fallen, and a faint blue glow of his stone palace. It’s still light in the Goddess’s land. 

She tries not to imagine him taking shape out of that shadow. Of him floating to her feet, one stone step beneath her, to press a kiss of her lips. And to have him see her pregnant with his child. How lush and full she’s grown. 

It’s too hard to hold a bow with her belly sticking out, so Rey has to skin and clean all the kills amongst the other huntresses. It feels like she can’t unclench her teeth when she goes about her daily tasks. 

Not only does her belly stick out to always be in her own way, her body sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the other priestesses. 

They know. 

It’s why Kylo Ren’s lands are forbidden, too terrible for anyone but Rey to even know his name. It’s why they stay under their Goddess’s protection. 

Rey hugs her belly when she gets too many stares in the baths at the end of the day. 

_Protection from what, this?_

She feels a kick against her palm that makes her lose her grip on the pitcher of bath oil in her hand. It shatters against the tile of the pool. There’s a few curious glances cast her way, but as Rey is holding her hand to her round stomach, those eyes leave her. Too afraid to think what she may be feeling. 

She bows her head and offers a little prayer. This time she prays to a different deity. Something that feels like blasphemy.

But she imagines it, an etching in her mind carved by a God’s voice:

_Black hair and gold freckles._

_A warrior, like its mother._

She shakes the thought away. It’s not hers, it’s his, and the child will live in his lands and eat better in a day than she has done all her life. And she can go back to the life she always knew. 

Now fully aware of what, in this life, she could miss.

* * *

  
  


There are dealings with the Gods that mortals do not bear witness to. Rey had sworn her life to a Goddess. Only the Goddess could release her. 

Kylo Ren never bore the guise of mortal flesh. He didn’t need it.

But all that is before months without a sign from Rey, before it grew to be too much for him to wait.

Stepping into the temple, he is merely a man, and now stands right before the altar to simply pray as one. 

He’s still recognized. The Goddess appears in a shimmer of light like sun flecked across olive leaves. 

“Kylo,” she takes a wide, somewhat bold seat on her altar like a throne, “I can’t say the priestesses of my lands have had _anything_ you’ve ever wanted before.”

“Not just any of your priestesses, Jannah,” he replies coldly. “This one happens to be carrying my child.”

Her laugh shakes the columns of the temple.

“And how is that possible? Kylo Ren, who does not take lovers, and claims to not need to rule his domain with the help of any sons?”

These accusations were true. But when he saw that lithe, furious thing with her bow…

He became a different being entirely. Nor was he too considered with sons. He’d like one. A daughter like her mother would be fine too.

Jannah laughs at him before he can answer. 

“I know you’ve been with one of my huntresses, Kylo Ren, considering the condition you returned her in. Perhaps a less obvious message next time that you can take what you want. Poor thing was in the bathing pool for days, like her body came back from your realm long before her mind did. The other priestesses whispered that she almost seemed happy with her fate from such a dark God. What did you require from the poor thing?”

Gods like gossip. But his huntress was more sacred to him than any deity was to a man. Kylo stood firm, while it might have charmed Jannah to tease back, that he would not shame her. Or regret any pleasure shared in their short time together. 

He hopes it felt longer for her. Rey. Time moves slower for mortals. He had never envied that those moments stretched out in their short lives with more weight before now. But he’d take that to have had more time with Rey.

“A tithe,” he tightens his jaw and tries to suppress the creeping discomfort for having to look _up_ at Jannah. He doesn’t beg at the feet of his equals for anything. He’ll only do it for Rey. “for slaying a creature in a territory that belongs to me.”

Jannah’s smile reveals the gap in her teeth, her charming, benevolent face just as girlish and comforting as the young Huntresses that follow her. If they could see her face, they’d see a sister in her, she belongs amongst her worshippers. But when her smile was one of mockery, his dark hurt was burning at the thought that Rey would laugh at him along with her.

“So she’s clearly already made up her mistake, has she not?”

“She is not her own to give herself to me,” he bows his head as his breath huffs out of his nose. “Just—if she could be given a choice between us. That’s all I ask.”

Jannah purses her lips at him.

“She chose to swear herself to me. For my protection. For freedom to go about my lands.”

“Lands that are running out of food to hunt, with too many girls to feed,” he clenches his fist at the implied insult he let slip. “She ended up in my territory to hunt for them. You won’t miss one girl, who now carries a demigod in her belly at that.”

“You’ll take the child when it comes? To me that seems like sufficient enough payment for the damages: since you’re the type to demand them.”

Jannah’s simply too clever for him to maneuver this like he can just slip Rey out of her oaths and onto his throne like he’s ridding the Goddess of a burden. Rey is too valuable. Not just to him. 

“I do not come to you to barter for this past indiscretion. I came to barter for her. For her to choose me if she wished.”

Jannah could have laughed him out of this temple: but he knew one thing.

She was a kind sort of Goddess. And her priestesses were hungry. 

And he knew where there was plenty of food to eat.

Jannah tilts her head to the side, breaking the fraught tension between two Gods who had never done business despite the treaty that divided their lands alongside each other, like only her own good humor would allow her to compromise with him:

“You’re begging. Which seems like it will benefit me more than you, and that concerns me. What are you trying to take from me, Kylo Ren?”

He swallows and does the unthinkable. He bows. On his knees.

“Only what comes from loving her: I tell you plainly it is the most valuable thing in the world.”

Jannah is not a romantic. Of course, her forest brimming with maiden huntresses was evidence enough of that. 

Still, his bald confession places an agreeable smile on her lips. 

* * *

Rey wanders back into his forest with her large, round belly, wary of another trap. 

But Jannah promised she could move freely between these realms now. If she wanted to leave, Kylo could not keep her. 

And Jannah would not remove her if she wished to stay. 

She held her hands to the bump they’d created together when she reached a familiar clearing. 

There was no dais or throne amongst the trees yet; but she’d hoped they would appear with him so she could negotiate the treaty their Goddess had arranged by his own necessity. 

As she was sent here to do so.

She places her basket of offerings on a flat patch of moss, perhaps ever where their child was made, and steps back to survey as if he’ll come crawling to snatch for the bait.

“You never came back,” Kylo says coldly.

It’s all there. His throne, the way the air shakes with glitter, the stone columns that wove through the trees. 

He’s there too. Sitting there. Her basket seems to belong at his feet. 

She blinks up at his dais and instead takes a wary step back. 

“I’m pregnant. I thought...that you’d come for the baby and take it away when you had need for it.”

He leans back on his throne, his broad chest inflating with a laugh.

“To do what? Devour it?”

Rey’s hand flies up to cover her mouth. She hadn’t thought of that when she agreed to all this. She just pictured a pink baby in his arms, such a good thing she made to give him, unspoiled and whole. 

Kylo Ren whisks himself off his throne and is beside her in an instant. He cups her face and strokes the tears efficiently away, like they shouldn’t even exist.

“No, little huntress, don’t cry. It was merely a cruel joke. Eternity makes for many of them. Forgive me.”

Rey holds herself and thinks of the baby, her little family, and his teeth gobbling up something both their bodies made together—

“I would never,” her chin is tilted up by his hand, his level eyes seeking hers, “no, do not think for a moment I would give this child anything but my love and protection.”

She lets him tend to her tears and croon at her a moment more.

“You stayed away,” he tilts his head to the side, and this seems to be his confession under the bitter tongue he possesses, “I wondered why you never came back.”

She doesn’t have an answer. Something that felt so obvious as she grew with child, that he would not keep her, was impossible to grasp when she saw how much he had been longing. It was clear on his ageless face. 

He had missed her.

“You would have whatever you wanted from me,” she whispers, “you’d get it. You’d take it if you wished.”

His fingers weave into her cropped hair. Dark flowers weave into laurels at the crown of her head. She’s this gamine, lovely thing, acquiring some softness in this long absence from her slender angles.

He sent many stags and boar over into Jannah’s lands, for hunting, since she had left him. 

“No, Rey,” he bows to her, “for me to want it, you had to choose it. I would have taken care of you too if you had asked.”

All this wanting to leave had clearly unnerved him. No wonder he wasn’t making offers at her feet. Taking only what he could get.

Her eyes flutter at him. There’s a response to the memory of him that his presence provokes. Like her body wishes to guide him back into hers. 

Her thighs, still strong, but soft too now, feel that stir. His voice caresses and when it touches her she’s wet.

“I will take care of our child,” he slides an arm around her back, drawing her belly up against him, “in exchange, might I ask...you come home to me?”

_It’s your choice, Rey. You’re free. To come back. To stay there._

The voice in her head is divine, but there’s a girlish chuckle that interrupts the basking warmth:

_To make as many damn mistakes as you want. He’s at least a handsome one._

Rey smiles, and lifts her hand to her God-groom’s cheek, and kisses her wants into being. 

She is something freed. And this is what she chooses.

**Author's Note:**

> This was partially inspired by [this tumblr post](https://deluxeloy.tumblr.com/post/615288841072443392) that was going around twitter a couple of months ago and vuas's killer witchy version of it: [ Lightning Strikes Twice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23755336)


End file.
